If You Want Blood You Got It
by windscryer
Summary: In which Shawn discovers that sometimes boredom is better than the alternative and Sam and Dean decide they don't like how Shawn redecorated the office. PYOASR 'Verse. No slash.
1. Not the Face! NOT THE FACE!

Initially inspired by Lu who demanded blood.

*waits for the shock to pass*

Finally posted 'cause Drag needed something to help her cope with a sucky, sucky day.

Mostly unbetaed? Lu flailed over it, but that's as good as it gets.

Disclaimer: Seriously, if I owned these boys Supernatural would have more comedy and Psych would have more drama (whump) and I'm pretty sure I'd actually just do a spinoff where they all join forces, dress up as musketeers, and make a very special pact. :D

... MUSKETEERS... ZOMJ! *dies*

*cough* Anyway.

This is the first of... three or four parts? We'll have to see how it all sorts out. :D

* * *

There is a fine art to entertaining yourself in a roomful of things that don't interest you.

Shawn had already checked the TV listings. Nothing was on. And he'd accidentally spilled some pineapple juice on the Tivo during a particularly exciting episode of _Numb3rs_, so he couldn't even watch anything good in rerun.

Sure, he could have looked for something crime-ish in the newspaper that he could go down to the station and horn in on, but he wasn't sure Lassie had _quite_ forgiven him for that whole mess with the paperwork and the chihuahua.

And it was a Tuesday. Tuesdays were notoriously slow, both here and there, for some reason.

Gus had taken his computer with him, and Shawn's was being looked at by the Nerd Herd guys in hopes that whatever virus he'd accidentally downloaded could be obliterated.

Which still left a whole host of things to do. None of which interested him.

Except for the pencil he'd found under the fridge.

He didn't even know where it came from since it was neon pink and half worn down, the eraser chewed off. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he'd become obsessed with balancing it on his nose. He was getting damn good at it too.

His current record was six and a half seconds. Well, six and three quarters. Which was really like seven, so he decided to round up. Seven seconds was the time to beat. He was up to four on this current round.

He'd found that breathing really interfered with the process so he was trying not to. The plan was working excellently and he counted off the 'six' in his head when the sneeze hit.

Dammit.

And now he didn't know where the pencil had gone. He debated finding another toy, but he really did want to beat the seven second record. Really, eight seconds wasn't THAT long.

So with a sigh he stood and rounded his desk. It had flown off in the general direction of Gus' half of the office—a line currently being marked by a strip of tape after a heated discussion over clutter. Which wasn't fair. It's not like Shawn was _deliberately_ trying to take over the whole room. Shawn still thought they had brownies or leprechauns or something.

Oooh. Brownies sounded good. He'd have to go get some when he went out for lunch.

Spotting a hint of neon pink under Gus' chair, Shawn moved to retrieve the pencil. Except, it wasn't the pencil. Just the eraser.

Gross. Someone had chewed the eraser off and spit it out? Seriously? Who did that?

Hoping it was under the desk, Shawn crawled into the knee-well and hunched over.

Ahhh, sweet victory.

Now he just had to reach— _DAMMIT!_

_Ow._

_Owowowowow._

He rubbed his head and glared at the desk corner that had dared to get in his way.

A sound at the back door had him sitting up and banging his head on the center drawer too, eliciting another curse. If Gus caught him down here he was _screwed_. He'd never be able to explain it without sounding guilty. The fact that he _was_ guilty was irrelevant.

He backed out, but stayed on his hands and knees, hoping to be able to make it back to his side of the line before Gus saw him. He just needed to know which direction to go, left or right...

He heard footsteps to the left and darted right. Which might have worked, except for the part where there were _two_ people, the second being very light on their feet indeed.

"What the fuck?"

Shawn's collar was grabbed and yanked, making him choke as he was hauled to his feet. The momentum was carried through until his back slammed into Gus' desktop. He found himself looking up into the unshaven face of a young man with hard blue eyes.

"Shit, Marcus, no one was supposed to be in here!" His partner, a sandy haired teenager with brown eyes and a lot less confidence, watched from where he stood next to the TV.

"I know," Marcus said, then spared a look for his friend. "And don't use my name, Dumbass."

"Sorry," the kid muttered and went back to fiddling with the cords behind the TV. He was either going to hook Shawn up with free cable—a waste since they already had DirecTV—or stealing the flat screen.

Oh hey, look. A crime had come to Shawn. Fantastic.

"Uh, guys?" he said.

Shawn's shirtfront was grabbed by the thug looming over him and he was lifted up slightly and then slammed back down.

_OW._

"Shut up," Marcus ordered.

"Okay. Constructive criticism not welcomed. Got it."

The handholds were again used, though instead of going right back down he was lifted up and spun around, Marcus releasing him just in time to send him flying toward the chairs and the window.

Which, you know, weren't as comfortable when you hit them after flying seven feet through the air.

Again, _ow_.

Shawn struggled to his feet, hoping to make it to the front door. He'd let Lassie and Jules worry about stopping these guys. He just wanted out of here before he broke something, either internally or externally.

Unfortunately, Marcus had other ideas.

Shawn was caught just inside the door to the front room by a flying tackle around the waist that took him to the ground. His face hit the ground and he both heard and _felt_ the crack as his nose made contact. It was immediately followed by a warm rush from his eyes and nostrils both. Lovely. Now his nose was broken.

Okay, he was officially pissed.

He got his hands underneath himself as Marcus tried to crawl up his body and, using a maneuver Dean had shown him, twisted his legs with Marcus'. He shoved away with his hands and flipped them over, landing on top of Marcus and smashing the thug's head into the ground. It stunned the other man enough that when Shawn kept rolling, Marcus didn't immediately follow.

"Mar— Uh, Dude, you okay?" his partner called.

Marcus blindly reached out and found Shawn's shirt before he could get fully away. He glared at Shawn as he yanked him back down.

"Keep going!" he ordered, spittle flying at Shawn and making him flinch away. Then again, he was bleeding on the guy, so he definitely got the better half of the deal.

Shawn was thrown off balance by being pulled down and didn't have any room to swing his fist. He tried to push up, but that put him at a disadvantage which Marcus seized upon with his own right hook It lacked power because of his limited space, but still managed to make Shawn's ear ring and stars explode briefly before his eyes.

Marcus got a knee under his chest and kicked out, sending Shawn flying up and over into the coffee table Gus had insisted they put in the front room. Shawn smashed into it, his ribs screaming in protest as they lost the right of way to the much more sturdy metal frame. They both toppled to the side, and Shawn decided that they were getting rid of the damn table.

He thought it was ugly anyway.

Marcus regained his feet and took a step toward him. Shawn tried to scramble backwards, but the glossy magazines Gus kept for their waiting clients—as if they ever had enough people to make anyone _wait_—slipped and slid and generally made it impossible for him to move before Marcus reached him, grabbing his shirt again and hauling him up.

Shawn instinctively grabbed his attacker's wrist and said, "No! Wait—" but a rabbit punch to the face cut off his words. A fresh fountain of blood streamed from his nose along with more tears.

In the momentary disorientation, he was dragged back, his feet trying and failing to find any purchase on the ground and then he was slammed up against the wall. He couldn't help the groan as his ribs filed a grievance against this repeated abuse.

Over Marcus' shoulder, Shawn could see the bright sunny day outside, the ocean winking and glinting in the sunlight. Why did no one ever come in when he needed them to? They didn't even have to _come in_. Looking through the window would suffice, as long as it got them to call 911.

There was a soft _snick_ sound and Shawn's attention was forcibly dragged back inside. He looked down to see a switchblade in Marcus' hand that wasn't pinning him to the wall.

"Oh, hey, really. Come on now. Let's not be hasty, here," Shawn said, bringing his hands up.

"Shut up," Marcus snarled.

"Seriously, I'm not going to stop you from stealing my stuff, okay? I was just trying to get out so you guys could work in peace, man."

Marcus snorted. "And go call the cops, you mean."

"Well, okay, maybe. But it's at least ten, fifteen minutes before anyone would be here. You guys have _plenty_ of time."

The knife came up and Shawn's eyes locked on it, almost crossing as it drew closer to his face.

"Shut. Up. Or I'll slit your throat right now."

Shawn's eyes left the knife to find Marcus' as he snorted.

"No, you won't. You're smart enough to know that robbery is one thing. Murder is totally different." Marcus grinned and Shawn swallowed.

"Oh yeah?" Marcus said. "The way I see it, robbery might get me in jail because you'll tell the cops how to find me. Murder though... you won't tell them anything."

"Ah, heh, actually, funny you should mention that—"

"You almost done in there, Ronnie?"

There was no response except more hurried movement.

"RONNIE!"

"Huh?" Ronnie said, peering through the window. He got a pointed look from Marcus and he gestured to himself. "Me?" he asked.

Marcus rolled his eyes. "No, Dipshit, this guy here," he said, jerking his head toward Shawn, then turning to looked at him. "Hey, Ronnie, you almost done?"

Shawn's brows rose, mouth forming an 'o'.

"Oh!" Ronnie said, finally getting it. "Yeah! But it's gonna take two trips."

Marcus nodded and looked back at Shawn. "Fair enough. Start taking the first load out to the truck." Ronnie nodded and disappeared again.

"If I let you live, you gonna rat us out?"

"Uhhhhh," Shawn said, wondering if that was a trick question.

"Yeah, thought so," Marcus said with a smirk. He shut the knife and stuck it back in his pocket.

Shawn felt relief wash over him. He just might get out of this—

The last thing he saw was Marcus' fist headed right for his face.

* * *

Next chappie will be later today or tomorrow.

Review, plz&thx.


	2. White Knights in a Shining Car

As you can see, I have STILL not developed any sense of will power. WHEE!

* * *

"Get the door, will you, Sam?" Dean said.

Sam reached past his brother and opened the front door to the Psych office, holding it until he'd gone through, then entering behind. He was looking at something next door as the door shut and was surprised to hear the bags of Chinese take-out in Dean's hands hit the ground.

"What the fuck?" he heard Dean say as his head whipped around.

"The hell happened here?" Sam asked as he took in the state of the room.

Chaos and disarray was a _nice_ way of putting it. The coffee table was turned over, and the couch shredded, exposing white, fluffy stuffing. Things had been knocked off the walls and the magazines lay in a scattered mess.

"Oh shit," Sam said.

Dean whirled and followed Sam's line of sight to the floor where streaks and puddles of red lay in a messy trail.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, crouching down. He touched a finger to the nearest puddle. "Not dry yet. Not completely," he said and stood, wiping his hand on his jeans, then turned around in almost a full circle until he faced the door to the back. He pulled out his gun as Sam did the same, then headed out. "Shawn?"

Sam stepped forward, following the trail to where it stopped at the base of the back wall. There was no body which was only partially reassuring.

"Shawn!"

Sam whirled, seeing his brother duck down toward the floor in the other room, and hurried to join him.

This room didn't look much better, having been thoroughly tossed as well. Gus' desk lay on its side. Shawn's was still upright, but pushed askew. Both chairs had been smashed and cut up. The filing cabinets and book shelves were all knocked over, their contents scattered about like entrails after a black dog attack. The armchairs had likewise been slashed and gutted and it looks like the coatrack had been used as a javelin to take out the window between rooms. Even the kitchen hadn't been left alone, the appliances knocked over the fridge on its side with the door open, the contents a mess on the walls and floor.

Sam had seen poltergeists that left more intact.

And there, on the kitchen floor amid milk and pop and a whole slew of mixed condiments, lay Shawn. Dean was hunched over him, muttering as he gave the downed man a thorough examination. Sam joined him, wincing at the sight of the obviously broken nose and the liberal coating of flaking brown and fresh red that covered Shawn's face.

"Come on, Shawn," Dean said, lightly patting his cheek. "Wake up for me, man."

"He's alive?" Sam asked. Okay, it was kind of a dumb question because Dean wouldn't be trying to rouse a dead man, but frankly, it was kind of a shock if Shawn was, as bad as he looked.

Dean didn't look at him like he was an idiot though, too worried about the still unresponsive Shawn.

"Shawn! Wake up!" Dean ordered and rubbed his knuckles down Shawn's sternum.

Shawn groaned, then hissed. His eyes flew open and his first response was to start trying to scoot away.

Dean grabbed his shoulders and held him in place. "Whoa! Easy there, buddy. You're okay. It's us. Sam and Dean. Okay?"

Shawn's eyes flicked between them, blinking rapidly as he panted his way through a fresh adrenaline rush.

Finally the wild look in his eyes calmed as it sank in that he did, indeed, recognize them. He fell back with a groan, hissing again when his head made contact with the ground.

"Ow," he muttered, reaching up.

"Whoa," Dean said again.

"Take it easy," Sam reminded him.

Shawn frowned up at the ceiling for a moment, then looked at them each in turn. "I'm assuming they're gone?"

"Whoever did this?" Sam said.

"Yeah, they're gone," Dean said.

Shawn nodded, then started to push up. Sam and Dean each took and arm and helped him, moving slowly so as to not give him a head rush.

"You all right?" Dean said.

Shawn winced and touched his nose, then nodded. "I'll survive." He grimaced. "I hope."

Dean grunted and Sam snorted.

"Yeah, you'll survive," Dean said. "What the hell happened?"

"Ah, two guys. Came in the back and took me by surprise." His eyes roamed over the room as he spoke. "One of them, Ronnie, started getting the TV ready to move. The other, Marcus, uh, stuck with me. I tried to get out and he stopped me. We fought and then he pulled a knife and played an Oscar-worthy role as Thug #1, then he put the knife away and knocked me out."

More hissing as Dean pulled Shawn's shirt up to get a look at his ribs, poking here and there.

"Ow!" Shawn snapped, trying to brush off Dean's hand.

Dean brushed back and kept going. "Doesn't look like anything 's broken. Maybe bruised, but that's it."

Shawn snorted then immediately regretted it, hugging his arms around his torso. "Looks like I got off light," he said tightly.

Dean's expression was unamused. "You did," he said and then stood, walking away.

Shawn sighed and then offered Sam a wan smile. "Hey," he said. "How was your trip?"

Sam returned the smile and then helped Shawn to his feet when a hand was held out. "A lot less exciting than your day has been," Sam said.

A whimper escaped as they got upright and he kept a hand on Shawn's shoulder as he walked slowly with him back into the office proper. Shawn looked around, taking in all the damage.

"They had to trash the place, didn't they?" he mumbled. "Not enough they steal everything of value, they have to leave it in ruins. What are they, Vikings?"

Sam huffed a laugh. "No, and it's a good thing. Vikings would have set the place on fire and we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Shawn winced and then nodded. "A very good thing," he agreed

He looked over to where Dean was in the front room, on the phone. Based on the half conversation they could hear, it was Juliet on the other end of the line.

He glanced up and met Shawn's eyes. "He's alive. He just wishes he wasn't 'cause they beat the shit out of him." He turned and kept talking, pacing on the small patch of clean floor by the door and the far wall.

"Shawn?" Sam said, waiting until he had eye contact before continuing. "You going to be okay for a second? I'm gonna go get the first aid kit."

"Yeah, sure. I'll be fine."

"No can do," Dean said, coming back in as he snapped his phone shut. "Juliet's on her way which means we've got to head out." His eyes landed on Shawn. "You'll be okay until she gets here?"

Shawn nodded, leaning back against his desk.

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

"Okay," Dean said. "I'm going to pull the car around the corner and we'll wait until we hear the sirens. Juliet said they're coming from the south, so we'll head north. Have her drop you off at your apartment when she's done with you. We'll be waiting there."

Shawn nodded. "Okay. Hey, thanks."

Dean snorted. "Don't thank me yet. You haven't had painkillers, so I'm withholding my opinions for now. We'll be having a discussion about what happened in more detail when you get home."

Shawn sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, it was worth a try."

Sam smiled, then squeezed Shawn's shoulder. "He's just—"

"Worried, I know."

"Sam!" Dean barked.

Sam gave him another smile and Shawn waved a hand to tell him it was okay.

He sat by himself as he listened to the throaty roar of the Impala rise in ignition, then fall with distance. Lecture or not, he really wished he could be out there right now. He didn't really feel like dealing with the whole mess.

Not even to see Juliet.

But the sooner he got it done, the sooner he could move on. Plus, he just might be able to get some sympathy points from Jules. You know, assuming she didn't read him the riot act as well for letting this happen.

Nah. She'd go easy on him. Lassie, on the other hand, was gonna be a pain in the _ass_.

He looked at the ruins of his office again. He was going to have to call Gus. And his dad. If he found out from Gus or Juliet or Chief or whoever, he'd be pissed.

Shawn snorted, holding his ribs against the spike of pain. More pissed anyway.

Yeah, there were a lot of lectures in his immediate future. Just freaking fabulous.

He clutched his ribs when they twinged again.

Did he mention _OW?_

* * *

Review, plz&thx.


	3. Lectures and Lidocaine

Special thanks to silverluna for making up for the lacking curriculum in my state's educational system. ;D

Also, I feel the need to inform all of you that this story will be mostly Shawn's POV. Lulu said trying to put Sam and Dean's side in more would mess up the story flow. Dean complained that this would compromise—or, more specifically, shortchange—his way of resolving the matter.

All of which means I'm writing a companion story to tell the SPN side of things. It will be AWESOME.

This one's short, but the next one is looking to be LOOOOONG, so I figure it will balance out. :D

* * *

"SHAWN!"

A sigh was the response, followed by a wince as the needle was reinserted into his skin where a gash he couldn't remember getting lay at the edge of his hairline. Thankfully, no shaving had been involved.

Not that he was wincing because it hurt. They'd given him enough local to make his entire skull and part of his shoulders numb at his request, but it _felt_ like it should hurt. He had three more stitches to go according to the nurse and he'd be done. His nose had already been tended to—not actually broken thankfully, just a little crunched—and the x-rays had come back clean of any breaks or cracks anywhere else. Bruises on the other hand...

But then it didn't take an x-ray to know he had bruises. His entire chest and back were a depressingly emo rainbow of blues, blacks, and purples and it all hurt like _hell_.

A fact made worse by the way he wasn't allowed to lay down yet and this was his second lecture.

Jules had been very sympathetic and concerned—which was as nice as Shawn had guessed it would be—but Lassiter had been unhealthily amused. Okay, so he'd been pissed too, but surprisingly that had been more directed at the two guys who'd trashed the office and beaten Shawn up.

Who knew that Lassie's sense of justice actually included Shawn? And not on the 'guilty' side?

The first lecture had actually come from his father who had arrived at the hospital just before he had. He'd stayed with Shawn through the initial triage and waiting and exam and right up to the x-rays when Shawn had _begged_ the nurse not to let his father follow.

And then, possibly, bribed her to take him down a back elevator and not tell his father he was done having his intestines photographed just yet. He just couldn't take the pitying looks from the teenagers any more.

He knew it wouldn't last forever, but he didn't want to hear more of his father's concern cloaked in a diatribe of every last thing Shawn had ever done wrong that had led to this moment. He _did_ have a photographic memory after all. It's not like he _needed_ to be reminded of anything, really.

And now Gus had entered the room and begun ranting. At Shawn, at the damage to the office, at what this was going to do to their insurance premiums... pretty much everything he could think of. Shawn was just glad Gus was on his left. His hearing was still a little funky there and the... _exuberant_ recap of the afternoon was muted enough to not aggravate his headache.

Plus, Shawn knew that it wasn't about any of that for Gus either. Gus was scared and worried and the ranting made him feel better, just like with his dad. Best just to let him get it out of his system since he couldn't go anywhere at the moment. Gus would at least _stop_ when his anxiety was sufficiently expressed.

"Okay, Mr. Spencer," the nurse said, rolling back on her stool and standing. "You're good to go. You just need to pick up those painkillers and if you have any problems, or exhibit any symptoms listed on the sheet I gave you—"

"Come back and let you scan my brain," Shawn said, smiling to soften the weary resignation of his retort. "Thanks."

"Sure thing. I'm assuming your friend here is driving you home?"

"Yes," Gus said, giving Shawn a glare before he could protest.

Shawn shrugged and smiled again. He wasn't really in a mood to complain. Not like he could drive with the drugs they'd given him and he had to get there somehow. And Gus could finish his ranting and they could move on to the next step—figuring out who those guys were and how to get their stuff back.

The nurse was on one side, Gus on the other, as he slid down off the table.

Gus, thankfully, had chosen to let his simmering worry do so quietly for the moment.

The nurse made a notation on Shawn's chart. "Should I go tell your father—"

Shawn held up a hand. "Not yet. Give us another twenty minutes?"

She chuckled and shook her head, checking her watch. "Twenty. Not a moment more," she agreed, then went to get his discharge forms and prescription sheet.

"Shawn! Your dad—"

"Is well aware that I'm okay but needs to be reminded I'm an adult and can handle my own problems. Besides, I told her she can update him in twenty minutes! It's not like I'm leaving him up in radiology forever! I'm just giving us a head start."

Gus huffed and shook his head, but kept his peace on the matter.

"You are going to go home." It wasn't a question, but Shawn answered it anyway.

"Yes, Gus, I am. Dean will kill me if I don't show up soon. Or," he corrected, bobbing his head to the side and wincing at the spike of pain inside his skull, "more likely, kill someone else for information."

More concern flashed over Gus' face.

"Dean? As in—" He stopped and looked around the otherwise empty room, lowering his voice as well. "Dean Winchester?"

Oh for— "Yes, Gus. Dean Winchester. He saved my life you know."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Yes, so I've heard. _Repeatedly_."

"No, I mean today. He was the one that found me in the office and called Jules."

Gus was giving him the eye. "He just happened to be in town? What about his brother?"

Shawn shrugged. "Not exactly _happened_ to be in town... And yes, Sam's here too."

"Shawn! They're wanted criminals!"

"Who didn't do... most of the things they're accused of. And who had good reasons for the rest!" Shawn rubbed at his eye, the closest point he could get to the pounding behind it. "Look, I'm not having this discussion now, today, or, if possible, ever. If you really think they're a danger to me and the general public then turn them in. If not—"

"Okay!" the nurse interrupted, returning with paperwork. "Here you are! I just need you to sign here and here!" she said.

"Thanks." He signed and she gave him a copy and, with Gus hovering almost too close at his side, they left.

* * *

Review, plz&thx!


	4. Apparently It IS Too Much To Ask

Wow. Um. I feel so epically bad for this. I actually posted these last two chapters awhile ago on Psychfic and somehow totally forgot to update it here. *wince*

So I'm not going to make you wait for them any longer. I'll be posting them both here in quick succession. Sorry. *iz made of epic fail*

* * *

Shawn wanted nothing more at this point, than to take some of those painkillers the hospital had given him, snuggle into his bed, and pass out for a few hours. Unfortunately, he knew it wasn't going to be that easy.

And as soon as the door opened, it began.

Dean and Sam had made themselves comfortable, on the couch and at the kitchen table respectively, but when they saw Shawn channel and web surfing were abandoned.

"So, what's the total damage?" Dean asked as Sam did a silent scan for comparison's sake.

"Bruised ribs; some cuts and contusions; an abrasion or three; a very abused, but unbroken nose; and lots of regular old skin bruises," Shawn recited. He smiled wanly and huffed a laugh. "Nothing major. Just painful." He hissed and pressed hand to his ribs when they protested his amusement.

Dean nodded, then seemed to notice Shawn's shadow. "Hi," he said, giving Gus a quick scan. This one was for weapons, not injuries, though. "Gus, right?"

Gus continued to scowl as he had been upon sight of their welcoming committee. "And you're Dean Winchester." His tone might have added a shade of, "Dirty, rotten criminal."

Dean shrugged and gave a careless smirk, then extended his hand. "In the flesh." When Gus continued to glare and refused to accept the hand, he lowered it. "Okay, well, thanks for bringing Shawn ho—"

"You must be outta your damn mind if you think I'm leaving him with you."

Dean's deceptive—and slightly lazy—slouch vanished, his spine straightening as he rose to his full height, a good four inches over the top of Gus' head.

Gus, for his part, didn't back down. He swallowed, but he stood his ground. And then he surprised himself, Shawn, and both Winchesters by speaking further. "I don't know why Shawn trusts you, except for the fact that he trusts a lot of people that he probably shouldn't—"

"Hey!" Shawn protested, but Dean snorted.

"Yeah, I dunno why he'd trust someone who's saved his life once or twice. It's just plain nutty, isn't it?" Dean drawled.

"And maybe his life wouldn't have needed to be saved if he wasn't with you!" Gus shot back.

Dean's face went stony, but Sam broke in then.

"Yeah, because Shawn never finds trouble on his own," he said easily.

"Yeah!" Shawn agreed. Then realized what Sam was saying. "Hey, wait a minute!"

Shawn glared and Sam arched an eyebrow and dared him to deny it. Shawn looked down to make sure he wasn't going to trip over anything if he kept walking.

Gus' expression twisted. "Fair enough," he finally admitted.

"So, what happened to your police escort?" Dean asked, sidling up on Shawn's free side in case he needed help as he moved further into the room.

"Jules?" Shawn said. "She had to stay and do detectivey stuff, see if the neighbors saw anything."

"Yeah, I notice _you_ didn't stick around—"

"Gus!"

"Well they didn't, Shawn. What if those guys had still been there?"

"They weren't," Dean insisted. "And we stayed as long as we could, but it wouldn't exactly look good if we were still there when the cops showed up."

"Because they might think you did it?" Gus retorted.

"Do _you_ think we did it?" Dean shot back.

"I don't know. You _are_ wanted for the FBI by crimes far less severe than this."

"Crimes we didn't commit!"

"And I'm sure you're the first guys to use that defense, too."

"Listen, _pal_, if you think we're guilty here—"

"No, you listen! If you really cared about Shawn—"

"—Why would we call the police? That would be kind of _dumb,_ wouldn't it? Being wanted by the FBI and all—"

"—You'd leave him alone because he works with the police and if he's caught consorting with criminals—"

"—AND WHERE THE HELL _WERE_ THE DAMN POLICE WHEN HE WAS BEING ROBBED AND BEAT ALL TO HELL?"

"—IT COULD BE THE END OF HIS CAREER AND HIS _FREEDOM!_"

Both were breathing hard as they glared at each other over Shawn's head. It took them a moment to realize that they had an unobstructed view. In perfect sync their eyes dropped to where Shawn was hunched over between them, hands pressed over his ears.

"Shawn!" they yelled in unison, then glared.

"Please stop yelling," came the soft, tightly uttered request.

"Uh, guys?" Sam said from the window.

"WHAT?" Gus and Dean both yelled, wincing when a whimper came from Shawn.

"What is it?" Dean repeated softly, a hand going to Shawn's shoulder to rub gently at the tense muscles. Gus glared at the gesture and got a light hand hold on Shawn's other arm in case his legs gave out on him.

"I think Shawn's dad is here."

Shawn shot up so fast he almost hit both Gus and Dean.

"Dammit!" He immediately started pushing on Dean's chest. "Go! In the bedroom! Hide!"

"What—"

"Sam! You too! Hurry! Go!"

"Shawn—" Gus said.

"He's already going to be pissed off that I ditched him," Shawn snapped. "How do you think he'll feel if he sees two of the FBI's most wanted in my living room?"

Nothing more was said as Dean and Sam both gathered up their things and hurried to the bedroom.

"You know," Gus couldn't resist pointing out, "if you weren't friends with criminals, you wouldn't have to worry about them being spotted."

Shawn glared, then hissed when it intensified his headache. "Not. Now. Gus," he grit out.

"I'm just saying."

"Well say it later!" Shawn snapped and then went to the couch to sit and bury his head in his hands. He just wanted to sleep right now. Was that so much to ask?

He'd barely closed his eyes when a harsh pounding on the door caused him to jerk upright and half turn all in the same motion. He very nearly toppled over, only a hand that caught the edge of the coffee table stopping him.

Gus hurried to open the door before Henry knocked it down.

"Where is he, Gus?" Henry started, blowing into the room like a cold north wind. "Where is my son? Because he's not in the Radiology department at the hospital, _despite_ the fact that that's where I left him."

Gus opened his mouth, but before he had a chance, Henry spotted Shawn on the couch and stalked over, leaving Gus to shut the door and wince in sympathy for his friend.

"Shawn, where the _hell_ did you—"

"Please don't yell," Shawn said, hunching over and covering his ears. How did no one understand that he had a freaking headache and yelling was really not cool right now?

Henry lowered his voice, but his tone remained as strident as ever. "Where did you go? I was in that waiting room for an hour before a nurse came and told me that not only were you not in Radiology, but that you'd left the hospital!"

"Sorry," Shawn said. "We took a different elevator down and then Gus showed up and they let me go. I... guess I thought someone would tell you," he lied easily.

Henry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, obviously they didn't. What did the doctors say about your ribs?"

Shawn hid his eyes under his fingers, but answered the question. It would go much faster than trying to _not_ answer it. Maybe then his dad would leave and he could sleep.

"Bruised. Everything's bruised, but nothing is broken. I'll be fine with a few days' rest and some painkillers in the meantime. Speaking of which, I should go get started on that resting bit," he said, pushing to his feet.

He swayed and Henry reached out to steady him.

"Whoa, kid. No. You're not staying here. You've got a perfectly good bed at home and there will be someone to make sure you don't have any unforeseen complications. Like trying to go back to work too soon."

Shawn rolled his eyes and jerked his arm free. "Dad, I'm perfectly capable to taking care of myself. And I have no plans to go back to work too soon. I fully intend to follow the doctor's orders and sleep for the better part of the next week."

"Well then, if you're planning to sleep you won't want to cook. Come with me and you won't have to."

"Dad! I've got plenty of food here that doesn't require much actual cooking to be edible. I'll be fine! And I like my bed here more."

"Shawn, don't be an idiot."

"Dad, don't be an overbearing jerk," Shawn shot back in the exact same tone.

"Since when is showing concern for you being an overbearing jerk? You were _assaulted_ today, Shawn."

"And left with just bruises!" Shawn retorted, conveniently forgetting that it was slightly more than _just_ bruises. His dad didn't need any more ammo, however. "I appreciate your _concern_, but I'll be fine here! Gus can get me stuff if I need it."

Both of them looked to Gus who immediately put up his hands against the looks that by turns pleaded and questioned him. "I am not getting in the middle of this."

Shawn sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "Dad, I'm not going with you. That's my final answer. What I _am_ doing is going to take my pain medication and go to sleep. Goodnight. You can find the door, I'm sure."

He started to head for the back when Henry spoke again, annoyance and concern both heavy in his tone.

"Fine. You're right. You're an adult. You want to stay here, that's your choice. But if you need _anything_—"

"I won't hesitate to call. Or, Gus won't because I'll be asleep or otherwise unable to request things."

"You need me to come over tomorrow while Gus is at work?"

Shawn tossed one more look at Gus who caught it and responded appropriately.

"I'm taking a personal day tomorrow. To work out the insurance and everything. But I can do that from here."

"And then it's the weekend," Shawn continued. He spread his hands wide. "By Monday I really ought to be able to stay by myself again."

Henry huffed. "Fine. Whatever." Then he pointed a finger at Shawn, swinging it over to Gus in the middle of his sentence. "You'll keep me in the loop this time though."

Gus nodded. "Sure, Mr. Spencer. I'll make sure of it myself."

"Good." His voice became both more soft and more gruff. "I'm glad you're okay, Shawn. And because you have a headache right now, I'll give you a pass, but next week we are discussing your office security before you go back to work."

Shawn flapped a hand. "Sure. Fine. Whatever you want, Dad."

Henry's exit was far less dramatic than his entrance, but the dissipation of tension was no less palpable for that.

There were a few blissful moments of silence, then the sound of footsteps from the hallway.

"All clear?" Dean asked, poking his head into view before his body followed.

Gus' temper flared immediately back up at the sight of Shawn's two fugitive friends.

"Yes," he said coolly. "Feel free to leave whenever you want." He grabbed Shawn's medications and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Shawn groaned and dropped back to the couch, burying his face in the pillows as Dean scowled.

"Dude, what is your problem?" he demanded.

Sam frowned, but went to Shawn's side, crouching down and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Shawn?"

"Why? Why can't we all just get along?"

Sam grimaced, but wasn't sure the explanation was what Shawn really wanted to hear right now.

Dean and Gus' argument had escalated and as they returned, Shawn pressed further into the cushions.

"I'm just saying that a friend with an active warrant on his or her head should think carefully about the contact they have with the person who works for the police," Gus said frostily.

"And maybe a guy who's not actually psychic shouldn't hang around cops pretending that he is!" Dean shot back.

"AND MAYBE BOTH OF YOU SHOULD SHUT THE HELL UP AND LET ME CHOOSE MY OWN DAMN FRIENDS!" Shawn snapped, shooting to his feet.

It would have been a whole lot more effective a statement if he hadn't almost immediately started back down in a near-faint.

Sam, Dean, and Gus all laid a hand on him to keep him upright.

Just as soon as the blood evened out and he could stand on his own, he shook them off, glaring.

"Look, I appreciate the concern. Really. I do. But so far today I've been punched in the face, thrown across the room _twice_," he emphasized, holding up fingers to reinforce it, "hit in the head, covered in the random contents of the office fridge, and subjected to no less than two lectures from my father. If it's not too much to ask, I'd like some PEACE AND FREAKING QUIET NOW. Is that all right with all of you?"

Sheepish looks and averted gazes met his outburst.

Sam cleared his throat and bent to pick up the pill bottle Gus had dropped when he reached for Shawn. He measured out a single pill and offered it to Shawn while Gus pushed the glass of water forward.

Shawn took them both, downing them quickly, then said, "I am going to wash the crap out of my hair, change my clothes, and crawl into bed so that the pill I just took can knock me out without aggravating my bruises by dropping me right here. If you three think you can play nicely like good children, you're welcome to stay. If not, don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out."

He was feeling steady enough to make his exit—and with the proper amount of dramatic flair, if he did say so himself—and shortly he was locked in the bathroom, his three best friends standing awkwardly in the living room in his wake.

o.o

Ten minutes later he emerged, shuffled across the hall, and collapsed on his bed.

The three of them gathered in the doorway, still subdued and sheepish. Dean glanced at the others, but they both shook their heads slightly. He made a face. Fine. He'd be the adult.

"Shawn?" he said hesitantly.

Shawn sighed and pulled a pillow over his head.

After a moment, a muffled, "What?" came out.

"We're sorry," Sam said, pulling out his gently soothing voice.

Gus piped up now, not to be outdone by these two. "We'll be out in the front room. If you need anything—"

The pillow was pulled back and half of Shawn's sleepy face peeked out, a smile curving his lips. "Thanks. I'll let you know."

Dean nodded awkwardly, then turned and shooed the other two out ahead of him.

Their quiet retreat allowed all three of them to hear the softly mumbled, "...all my best friends. Why can't you just share?"

It was a thoroughly shamed trio that went to wait for Shawn to wake up.

* * *

It was prolly not even worth the wait, but if you liked it, a note would be nice. :D


	5. All's Well That Ends With Pancakes

Heh. *cough*

I would like to point out that when I started posting this, I thought it was complete.

Because THIS is why I don't post WIPs.

Aaaanyway, it is NOW complete.

* * *

The next two days saw a détente the likes of which the US and Russia had never managed, as Gus and the Winchesters mutually agreed to focus their efforts on Shawn instead of each other. Shawn was by turns amused and annoyed when that led to him having three mother hens pecking at him. Still, he was quite pleased to have ALL of his closest friends in one room without shouted words or bloodshed.

The three days after that were a little more tense, but Gus going to work and the Winchesters going to... somewhere not Shawn's apartment... helped immensely. Shawn was sad to see the tension return, but two days were more than he expected to be honest.

A week after they'd walked into the Psych office and found Shawn a bloody mess, Sam and Dean announced they were leaving.

"Really?" Shawn said, flipping pancakes.

"Can't stay forever, Shawn," Dean said. "Lotta fuglies out there still that need killing."

"But we didn't even figure out what happened to our stuff!" Shawn protested, on the verge of pouting much to the amusement of his the other three at the table.

Shawn set the plate down and Dean and Gus both reached for pancakes and glared at each other. A minor duel of forks followed and Shawn let them fight that one out on their own.

Sam sipped his coffee and said, "I'm sure you'll figure it out soon."

A triumphant cry escaped Dean as he got his fork past Gus' and into a pancake. Gus huffed in annoyance and moved in lightning fast just as soon as Dean had cleared out. Dean cackled and leisurely poured far more syrup than he needed, forcing Gus to wait longer. Shawn and Sam mostly ignored them. After the third day, it was less than original.

"Yeah, probably."

"Maybe they'll turn themselves in," Dean said around a mouthful of pancake.

Gus' lip curled in disgust, but he said nothing—he'd already learned the hard way that it would only make it worse if you acknowledged the behavior.

"I doubt it," he said instead as he poured his syrup. "Why would they?"

Dean shrugged. "Guilty conscience?"

Gus snorted. "Uh huh. Sure."

Sam changed the subject to a lighter topic before his brother could voice whatever thought was lurking on his tongue, and the rest of breakfast passed peacefully.

They stayed long enough to help clean up from the meal, then loaded up the car and said their goodbyes—claps on the shoulder and gentle squeezes of the same, promises to call and keep in touch, and a sigh from Shawn as he vowed to keep the back door to the office locked with a roll of his eyes.

Dean arched an eyebrow at Gus who just nodded shortly. Shawn shook his head in amusement.

"Drive safely!" he said as the two Winchesters climbed into the car. A rumble of the engine and a last wave out the windows and they departed.

Shawn didn't move immediately and Gus waited to follow his lead.

"See?" Shawn finally said, turning to squint in the morning sun. "Told you they wouldn't kill you in your sleep."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Not this time," he agreed.

Shawn chuckled and turned to lead the way back inside. "So, what do you say to a movie this afternoon?"

"Shawn, we're supposed to meet the chief at the station at two."

"Can I call in sick still?"

"Sure. But until she talks to us, they're not filing the final report of what happened. And until they do that, the insurance won't pay out. And until they do _that_ we can't go shopping to replace the stuff we lost."

Shawn's face scrunched up. "That sucks."

"Yes, it does. Do you still want to go to a movie?"

Shawn sighed. "No. I suppose we can go to the station."

Gus nodded. "Maybe we can go tonight," he conceded. "Celebrate the end of this whole thing."

"Now _that_ sounds like a plan," Shawn said, holding up a fist.

Gus bumped it as they entered the building once more. "Amen to that."

o.o

"So, tell me again why those two randomly decided to turn themselves in?"

Shawn shrugged. "Because they let their consciences be their guides?"

Gus shot Shawn a look over his shoulder, holding it until Shawn looked up.

"What?"

"Shawn, Lassiter and Juliet may be fooled by your psychic routine—"

Shawn snorted.

"—But I know very well that it's all a façade."

Shawn tried shrugging.

"Shawn."

He sighed and set down his handheld AM/FM radio.

"Look, Gus, does it really matter?"

Gus didn't speak for a moment, eyes narrowing.

"_They_ did something didn't they?"

"Yes, Gus, the secret government organization that harassed Mulder for years and controlled the US Government from behind the scenes took an interest in the robbery and assault of a tiny psychic detective agency in Santa Barbara." Shawn rolled his eyes.

"Not _them_, Shawn, your friends. The... Winchesters." He lowered his voice on the name much to Shawn's amusement.

Shawn tossed his baseball up in the air and caught it again.

"I don't know, Gus."

Gus snorted.

"I really don't. I have my suspicions, of course, given that Marcus and Ronnie were absolutely _terrified_, but I have no proof of anything, nor has Dean or Sam confessed anything to me.

"As far as I know, they stayed long enough to make sure I was okay and alive, and that I didn't die in my sleep, ran a few errands, probably did some laundry, then took off to avoid possible contact with my dad or any members of the Santa Barbara police force."

Gus didn't respond immediately, having gone back to poking through the box.

"This isn't our stuff, Shawn."

"What?"

"This isn't our stuff," Gus repeated, slowing it down for emphasis.

Shawn frowned. "What do you mean? They didn't give us someone else's—"

"There was a scratch on the TV casing, right here. From when you threw your chopstick after they voted Richard Dean Anderson off of _Dancing With the Stars_."

Shawn's expression was pure affront. "Dude, it was _MacGyver_! The man can make a nuclear bomb out of a rubber band, a paperclip, a drinking straw, and some bubble gum! _And_ he saved the planet from body-snatching aliens for almost a decade! You can't vote him off because he missed a couple of steps in a tango! A tango, I'd like to add, that even the judges said was very difficult for experienced dancers."

"_Shawn_."

Shawn huffed and crossed the room, examining the grey plastic.

Odd. There _had_ been a scratch there.

Shawn had a thought and checked the serial number of the device. And snorted.

"What?" Gus asked.

Dhawn just went to the box and pulled out some other things, looking them all over.

"Dude, this isn't our stuff."

"I told you!"

"It's new."

Gus' brow furrowed.

"It's what?"

Shawn shrugged. "Some of it anyway. The stuff that they probably sold right away. They bought us new stuff to replace the other stuff." He pulled an envelope out of the bottom of the box and opened the flap to find it stuffed full of cash and a note.

_We're really sorry about your stuff we damaged. Hopefully this will help pay for some of it. - Marcus and Ronnie_

His grin widened and he chuckled.

He needed to send Sam and Dean something to say thank you. And next time he saw them, he was so asking Dean to show him how he did the scary face that made everyone and anyone do what he asked them to do.

He wondered if it would work on Lassie...

* * *

I am not even going to begin to speculate on when the companion piece will be out. Um. 'Eventually' is the best I can do.

Review, plz & thx. Even if it's to tell me I'm an asshat.


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